Review by New York Times Review
THERE'S a reason many great social justice novels are written as historical fiction or contain elements of fantasy or allegory: This builds a certain crucial distance into their storytelling. Heidi W. Durrow is the daughter of an African-American serviceman and a white Danish mother, and her first novel was, according to her publisher, "inspired by true events." On the face of it, the story of a biracial girl growing up in 1980s America, grappling with confusion over both her identity and a complicated, mysterious family history, couldn't be more timely or important. But in the moments when Durrow's novel seems to tackle its big themes most self-consciously - when it appears written for the Age of Obama - it can be predictable, even dull. It's when it approaches the questions of identity and community more subtly and indirectly that "The Girl Who Fell From the Sky" can actually fly. After her mother and two siblings plunge to their deaths from a Chicago rooftop, young Rachel Morse is sent to Portland, Ore., to live with her paternal grandmother. There she suddenly discovers the difficult subject of race: "I learn that black people don't have blue eyes. I learn that I am black. I have blue eyes." Her father, an American serviceman posted overseas, is black. Her Danish mother, whom he met in Europe, was white. During Rachel's early childhood on an air base in Germany and then during a summer in Chicago, she apparently failed to realize that the color of her eyes and the color of her skin mattered to other people. But in Oregon she understands that the question of her race will define her. Rachel is intelligent, beautiful, athletic. She is also motherless and, for all intents and purposes, fatherless. When she asks herself, "What are you?" she means what race, and she can't come up with any adequate reply. Her self-assessments as she tries to grapple with her feelings have a blunt declarative quality. "I am 14 and know that I am black, but I can't make the gospel sound right from my mouth." "I don't want being Danish to be something that I can put on and take off." She's poking at raw wounds, but what readers mostly see are the cauterized edges. Durrow moves between Rachel's perspective and several others as she gradually reveals what happened to the girl's mother and brothers on that Chicago rooftop. But although there's a plot twist at the end, the novel isn't driven by suspense. Instead, its energy comes from its vividly realized characters, from how they perceive one another. Durrow has a terrific ear for dialogue, an ability to summon a wealth of hopes and fears in a single line. "How you gonna catch a lizard with your backside loading you down?" asks Grandma as she watches Rachel's unmarried aunt eat a pancake. "How to learn all these things that might hurt them?" Rachel's mother writes in her painfully broken English. Even Rachel's confusion is registered best by her conversation with a young man called Brick, who also has light skin. "What are you? Like black, or - like me?" Rachel asks. "Oh, I'm black. Regular," is his answer. He says "regular" as if the issue weren't as fraught and urgent as it is for her - "like he was describing coffee without milk," Rachel thinks. She is even more unnerved, though, when he turns the question back on her: "Do you think people would ask you that if you didn't have your mother's eyes?" Sometimes we see ourselves best as others see us. Louisa Thomas is a contributing editor for Newsweek.
Copyright (c) The New York Times Company [February 21, 2010]
Review by Booklist Review
*Starred Review* When we are in pain or danger, we hold our breath and move with caution, which is how Durrow's measured and sorrowful debut novel unfolds. Rachel has yet to get the hang of the American hierarchy of skin color when she arrives in Portland, Oregon, to live with her father's mother and sister. Although considered black like her father, she is light-skinned-ed and has blue eyes, thanks to her Danish mother, whose shock and despair over the racism confronting her children after they moved from Europe to Chicago contributed to a mysterious tragedy only Rachel survived. Smart, disciplined, and self-possessed, Rachel endures her confounding new life, coming into her own as she comes of age. Meanwhile Jamie, the neglected son of a prostitute and the only witness to the Chicago catastrophe, has an even rougher time. Durrow fits a striking cast of characters and an almost overwhelming sequence of traumas into this compact and insightful family saga of the toxicity of racism and the forging of the self. As the child of an African American father and a Danish mother, Durrow brings piercing authenticity to this provocative tale, winner of the Bellwether Prize for Fiction.--Seaman, Donna Copyright 2010 Booklist
From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review
Durrow's debut draws from her own upbringing as the brown-skinned, blue-eyed daughter of a Danish woman and a black G.I. to create Rachel Morse, a young girl with an identical heritage growing up in the early 1980s. After a devastating family tragedy in Chicago with Rachel the only survivor, she goes to live with the paternal grandmother she's never met, in a decidedly black neighborhood in Portland, Ore. Suddenly, at 11, Rachel is in a world that demands her to be either white or black. As she struggles with her grief and the haunting, yet-to-be-revealed truth of the tragedy, her appearance and intelligence place her under constant scrutiny. Laronne, Rachel's deceased mother's employer, and Brick, a young boy who witnessed the tragedy and because of his personal misfortunes is drawn into Rachel's world, help piece together the puzzle of Rachel's family. Taut prose, a controversial conclusion and the thoughtful reflection on racism and racial identity resonate without treading into political or even overtly specific agenda waters, as the story succeeds as both a modern coming-of-age and relevant social commentary. (Feb.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Review by Library Journal Review
After a horrific family tragedy claims the lives of her mother and two siblings, 11-year-old Rachel suddenly finds herself living in racially divided 1980s Portland, OR, where life for the biracial girl seems utterly foreign, confusing, and cruel. Part tragedy, part mystery, and part coming-of-age tale, Durrow's (heidiwdurrow.com) 2008 Bellwether Prize-winning debut novel slowly unfurls from several carefully intertwined perspectives. The characters are drawn so vividly and portrayed so well by the narrators-Karen Murray, Emily Bauer, and Kathleen McInerney-that their voices will continue to resonate long after the book is done. A solid hit; strongly recommended. [Audio clip available through www.-highbridgeaudio.com; said to be similar to Graham Swift's Waterland and Jean Rhys's Wide Sargasso Sea, the Algonquin hc was recommended "for readers intrigued by the psychology behind shocking headlines," LJ 10/15/09.-Ed.]-Valerie Piechocki, Prince George's Cty. Memorial Lib., Largo, MD (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Review by Kirkus Book Review
The grim, penetratingly observed story of a half-black teen and her struggles with racial identity in 1980s America. Rachel is the daughter of a Danish woman and an African-American GI. When the marriage fails, in part because of lingering damage from an accident that took place before Rachel's birth and of which she knows nothing, her mother takes Rachel and two younger siblings to live in Chicago. But the odds are stacked against a single mom rearing three small children in poverty while dealing with her alcoholism and an abusive boyfriend. The family's troubles are exacerbated to the point of disaster by the fact that the bewildered Mor ("that's mom in Danish," Rachel explains) doesn't really grasp the implications of her children's ambiguous racial status and is not prepared to deal on their behalf with prevailing American notions of what race is. After a horrific tragedy, Rachel goes to live with her paternal grandmother in Portland, Ore., where she is for the first time immersed in black culture and thinks of herself as being contained by, or constrained by, racial categories, prejudices and expectations. Interlaced with Rachel's story is that of her Chicago neighbor Brick, son of a woman who prostitutes herself for drugs. He witnessed the awful incident that nearly ended Rachel's life and in the aftermath became the unlikely keeper of a family secret. After years roaming the country as a runaway, he lands in Portland and happens upon Rachel in a coincidence not, perhaps, quite earned. Nonetheless, Durrow's debut won the 2008 Bellwether Prize for a fiction manuscript addressing issues of social justice. Nothing especially groundbreaking here, but the author examines familiar issues of racial identity and racism with a subtle and unflinching eye. Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
